


Not the End

by malevolosidade



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-22
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-24 06:59:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malevolosidade/pseuds/malevolosidade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death, and what comes afterwards for the ones who stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not the End

**Author's Note:**

> Written as part of the Summer Slash challenge. Inspired by W. H. Auden's poem Funeral Blues (http://www.davidpbrown.co.uk/poetry/wystan-hugh-auden.html).

It was only fair that he’d be gone in such a crispy, clear day; not a single trace of cloud in the now fading skyline, not a single gust of breeze to ruffle the hair and clothing of those that had gathered to mourn and weep. It made sense that he had gone out peacefully in his sleep, in an autumn day like that, without fuss, without alarm, without warning; somehow, even the qualities of his passing and of the time it happened seemed to reflect Jean-Éric all over them. Everything made sense: that many came to pay their respects, that many came to honor his memory and many came to lend Daniel a comforting shoulder. Many stayed for a long time, their contemporaries lost and reminiscing on the past; many stayed to mingle and catch up on recent events they had yet to be aware of. All of this made sense, of course it did; as it made sense that, one by one, they all left the wide, scarce expanse of the cemetery, by themselves or in groups, and it made sense that he would be the only one to remain behind as the sun dipped behind the horizon. The stars and the moon would then come up, as they always did; this time, however, Daniel wants nothing to do with them, wishing instead for them to be put out and packed up.  
  
All that has happened makes sense, except for the fact Jean-Éric is no longer there.  
  
Now that everyone’s long left and he is the only one still standing, Daniel is able to at last begin collecting his thoughts. He clutches tightly at his cane’s handle and shuts his eyes, his lower lip trembling at the strain; his bones ache, but no more than his head does. It’s been a long day, the longest he ever remembers having in his entire life, and soon, he will have to return home. Not the home he has grown up in, not the homes he adopted in his youth, not the scattered homes of his years spent racing, but the home he has built for himself over the years, over the safest foundation he could have ever wished for.  
  
A home he has not built by himself.  
  
A home whose part of its foundation had simply been torn away from him.  
  
Not during the wake, watching as people came and went, bringing words of comfort and support; not when it was time for Daniel to cast the last look he would ever be allowed to have of Jean-Éric before holding his lifeless hands in his own for the last time, nor when it was time to gather around and watch, in the most poignant, enfolding, deafening stillness as the casket was lowered, he felt the void as deeply as he does now. It hangs heavy and forbidden over his head, inside his being, absolute in its blackness, absolute in its certainty.  
  
It is only then, staring at the headstone in the withering light, its dark silhouette outlined against the dipping sun, it hits him fully.  
  
 _My husband is dead._  
  
It is only then, after all has been said and done, and there is no turning back, that he openly weeps for the greatest loss of his life.  
  


***

  
The first night, Daniel only has enough strength to crawl into bed,  _their bed_ , and drown into the warmth covers hastily thrown over his body offer him. He wants sleep to come already, to cut off what still links him to consciousness so he can have some rest, but soon it’s one in the morning and the longest day has not ended yet. Soon, it’s two in the morning, as the alarm clock says so, and he fears sleep will not be a friend; restlessness kicks in when he realizes sleep will not come because it does not will to. Shifting and turning, his body is tired but his mind is still too skewered by the sharp shards of memories for it to completely tune out; lulled by their pricking sting, he only notices he has fallen asleep when sunlight comes to mock him.  
  
The first morning, he stirs and murmurs, trying to rub the gleaming light off of his eyes to no avail. He stirs again, turns around and finds out he’s no longer laying where he was the night before; at some point of his sleep, he has rolled over to the other side of the bed,  _Jean-Éric’s side_ , to the side he shouldn’t have rolled over at all, not if he could have stopped it, but there he was nonetheless. He groans as he slowly rises from sleep; he’s been laying there for who knows how long, head buried in the pillow,  _his pillow_ , as he keeps correcting himself, and yet it still feels cold when he touches the fabric of the sheet. The shudder that crashes down his neck as vehement as a wave is only heightened when his eyes catch sight of what still is on the handle of the bedroom door.  
  
  
 _“Are you going to leave this hanging here?”_  
  
 _“Why not?” Jean-Éric replies, his eyebrows raised, a faint smile spreading across his lips as he sits on the edge of the bed. “I might want to wear it again tomorrow. I also seem to remember you were never the tidiest person to begin with.”_  
  
 _“That was a long time ago, you know.”_  
  
 _“‘Last week’ is not the same as ‘a long time ago’, Dan.”_  
  
 _“JEV, JEV, you’re clearly remembering it all wrong.”_  
  
 _Daniel grins facetiously, but Jean-Éric says nothing in return. Instead, he is quick to shoot him a look, equal parts tender, unhurried and heedful. Heedful from having all of his attention drawn towards the man standing by the door so easily, unhurried from knowing Daniel far too well after all those years and knowing when he’s joking or digressing, or whether his attitude borders on seriousness or levity, and tender for not being able to feel anything else other than such a feeling over recalling all that they’ve gone through and all that they’ve achieved together over those very same years._  
  
 _“Fine, fine, you win.” Daniel lets go of the edge of the scarf he’s holding and raises an arm in well-humored defeat, sitting by Jean-Éric with an apologetic sigh. “I’m a messy slob and I know it. I acknowledge it, yeah- I even reiterate it if you want to.”_  
  
 _“You might be- no, scratch that, you **are**  a messy slob, the messiest slob I’ve ever met.” Jean-Éric continues as Daniel raises his legs only slightly; his knees and his bones aren’t what they used to be, of course, and he winces when they crack, but it feels oddly good nonetheless. “But, despite all this, you’re still my favorite messy slob.”_  
  
 _They might be tired after an afternoon walk down the grounds surrounding their house and the neighbourhood. A string of distant storms had left a dewy gleam on the grass and on the vividly green leaves of the trees that encircled the paths they went through, but that did not deter them; the pale autumn sun had come out at last and beckoned them to go out and enjoy the day, so they did. It did not matter; they do not regret it one bit. It’s tiredness with a purpose; it’s tiredness that was meant to be shared and it had been, just like always. Jean-Éric turns to face Daniel when he says that; sunlight streams through the open window behind them and he’ll never forget it, the sudden feeling of gentle affection that washes over him at that moment. Breathlessly, he gazes at Jean-Éric’s hair and his elegant, if faded features; he can’t quite explain what moves him to cup his face with one hand, but if he had to try, it’d have to do with protectiveness, a sudden need to reassure Jean-Éric there’s nothing to be afraid of, not at that moment, not ever._  
  
 _“Am I really?”_  
  
 _“I can’t believe you’ve even dared to ask that!” Jean-Éric replies, laughing amusedly. His touch radiates warmth against Daniel’s cheek and something inside him flutters wildly and lacking enough control for him to be unable to contain it. “Of course. After all these years, through thick and thin, you still have that ability to make me feel young.”_  
  
 _Daniel rolls his eyes at that preposterous suggestion._  
  
 _“You’re not old.” He draws Jean-Éric into his embrace, kissing his temple. “You’re not even past your prime either, so don’t even try that one on me. You’re still the best.”_  
  
 _Jean-Éric shyly glances at him; it’s the same boyish glance that had won him over years before, somewhere far away from where they lived now. The same boyish glance Daniel first learned to seek out, then to decipher and eventually to love, the same sincere eyes; out of all the people he had ever been with, nobody else was able to so profoundly move him with such a simple gesture, nor was there anyone who still gave him such resolve to go on day after day. This he knows to be true and this he carries with him, year after year. When he finally opens his mouth, he can only whisper the truth._  
  
 _“I love you.”_  
  
 _They kiss amorously, a spark of youth ignited inside them both._  
  
 _“I love you too.” Jean-Éric continues once they pull apart, giving Daniel a small smile. “Fine, since there’s space for only one slob at this household, I’ll put the scarf away. Shall we get dinner first? Day’s almost gone now.”_  
  
 _“Let’s go, I’ll help you out with it.” Daniel gets up, gesturing at the scarf with a nod of the head. “Don’t worry, leave it there. I don’t mind.”_  
  
That had been three days ago. Jean-Éric meant to put it away, but never really got around to, busy with other matters, trivial or not; now it was nothing but a red reminder of what had been, limply hanging from the handle like a banner in a calm day, devoid of the wind that had always kept it floating high. Daniel pushes the covers away, his voice croaking, throat suddenly dry as he sits down and his eyes are still glued to the door. It’s still cold, so very cold, as he gets up, hands rubbing his upper arms; it’s still windless, so very lifeless, when he reaches for the scarf and there’s still the mild scent of his cologne on it. He shuts his eyes, a distant hope in his mind it’s all a bad dream and when he turns around, he’ll wake up to find Jean-Éric still fast asleep by his side, mumbling in his sleep all those things in French he was never able to fully understand; maybe, if he wishes hard enough, clutching hard at the scarf as he does now, he’ll have him back, and it’ll all be just like it was-  
  
Except it’s not.  
  
His reverie is cut short by the harsh sound of the telephone ringing in the living room. He had already had enough of phone calls the day before, of people wanting to hear more about Jean-Éric; wanting to hear more about the man he was, the champion he became, and the death that he would always believe untimely, and then to hear what he  _thought_ about Jean-Éric’s death; just like that, embedded in that angry sound and in the remembrance of the day before, the illusion is broken. The phone keeps on ringing relentlessly; he cannot avoid it, but then again, he has no intention to. With a quick swipe of the hand, the scarf is off the handle and around his neck, to be worn for the rest of the day as a keepsake of what he would never dare to leave behind or forget, as a reminder there can still be the slightest hint of warmth in an otherwise empty day.  
  
He does cast a look over his shoulder as he leaves the room, just in case.  
  


***

  
The first week turns out to be a string of impatient, purposeless days; he barely eats, he barely moves, he barely does anything other than picking up the occasional phone calls that still happen to trickle through. It doesn’t surprise him that everywhere he goes, anywhere he looks, whatever he does, his mind keeps returning to Jean-Éric. It’s an unavoidable consequence, and over and over again he finds himself hung on memories, on the smallest details, on the silliest admissions and the greatest worries. It’s the whole of a life that unfolds in the back of his mind, time after time, and there’s so much to think about he is sometimes overwhelmed that his mind is still so sharp after so many years, and that he’s able to recall so much.  
  
There’s a constellation of memories hanging from the ceiling and walls, draped across the windows, curled around the porch and the trees in the yard like evergreen ivy, stretching as far as the eye can see, and early on Daniel realizes his main task now is to reel them all back in and to not let any of them ever escape his diminishing reach. It’s easy: he reaches one at a time and examines them against whatever light is nearby, making sure they’re repeated long enough until etched into his brain. It’s painful; the process feels like burning, like the drawn out creation of an elegant, sprawling tattoo of all that there was to their life together, from the end to the beginning and then back and forth again, lacking structure or order but exceeding in meaning.  
  
There are plenty of those to go through, there’s plenty of time to pick them up, there’s plenty of patience for such an exercise, and on he goes as he wanders around.  
  
  
 _“It’ll be a good home, you’ll see.” Daniel says, carrying a box as he climbs up the porch, a multitude of boxes piled up in a corner, a bunch of luggage propped up in another. He gives Jean-Éric a grin. “Don’t think it’ll take us too long to settle in, either. Well, I sure won’t, you got far more luggage and boxes than I do.”_  
  
 _Jean-Éric nods absently, his eyes unusually clouded as he gazes at the horizon; leaning on the pristine white railing of the porch, his shoulders are hunched, giving him the air of someone not entirely at ease with whatever is happening at the moment. Jean-Éric is not quite the talkative type, and he never was, for that matter; it actually took some time for Daniel to break through his carefully constructed shell. It was true he sometimes had those sullen spells, and that Daniel had not only gotten used to but also grown used to either help defusing them, which happened most of the time, or allowing him to depart from them on his own, on the few occasions he could not help in any way. There was always a tangible reason for them to come about, as well; this time, however, as they were at last moving in together, it made no sense whatsoever to be left feeling this way. Daniel tries to read the truth hiding behind his eyes. It was meant to be a happy time, after all, and surely unpacking would be a bit troublesome but not something sufficiently cumbersome for him to fall into that sort of stoic silence._  
  
 _Had he said something, had he done something wrong?_  
  
 _“JEV?”_  
  
 _“What?”_  
  
 _“You wanna talk about what’s troubling you?”_  
  
 _Daniel tries to sound casual, as relaxed as he often is. What he feels can’t quite be described as anger or agitation, nor as any specific kind of anxiety or tension; it’s concern, plain and simple, a kind of concern he rarely directs at Jean-Éric because he is hardly a matter to be concerned with. This concern feels firm, opaque, almost too heavy to be carried inside himself as he approaches Jean-Éric and leans on the railing to face him, arms crossed on his chest, eyes defiant._  
  
 _Jean-Éric frowns, does not hold his gaze and chooses to both remain silent and stare into the unattainable distance; Daniel never likes when this happens._  
  
 _“I’m okay.”_  
  
 _Daniel shakes his head, incredulous._  
  
 _“No, you’re not.”_  
  
 _“Do you really like it out here?”_  
  
 _Jean-Éric pulls back to look him in the eye at last, and the question is shot at him unexpectedly, its words hitting him point blank with no further warning. There’s austerity painted across his face, as there often was, as he was the serious one between the two of them, but this time there was also an unusual gravity that underscored it and tinted his voice dark, and all that sudden change unsettled Daniel deeply._  
  
 _“Of course I do, JEV.” His brow knits in befuddlement. “Why are you asking this now?”_  
  
 _“You’d tell me if you didn’t like the idea of moving here, right?”_  
  
 _“You know I would, yes.” Daniel pauses. “You didn’t answer me. Why now?”_  
  
 _Daniel’s surprise grows with each passing moment. Why such doubt now? They had had their discussions and disagreements before, some of those even referring to where should they settle down after having made the decision to live together, but that was early on, so long ago that Daniel had already put plenty of stones over it. By this point, they had long agreed to settle down in France, had visited many houses in the search of one that made them both happy, had dealt with real estate agents, had completed the procedures and bought the wide, spacious house, had bought furniture, decorated the house and brought the remainder of their belongings along with them. Everything was ready; everything was done. It was time to make the house a home of their own, and they were ready. He was sure of that then as he is now, having lived it all._  
  
 _For a moment, a fear grows inside Daniel, its grip tightening around his heart._  
  
 _“I just want to make sure you’re not feeling forced to move here, that’s all.”_  
  
 _“Is that all?” Daniel asks tentatively, still unsure, hoping this second answer is not an undesired one, related to the fear slowly extending its long fingers inside himself._  
  
 _“Yes, Dan.” He lowers his eyes. “I need to be sure you’re going to be happy living here.”_  
  
 _“Oh JEV, I don’t know where you got the idea I’d be unhappy to live here. Look at this house, it’s perfect. It’s got everything we wanted. The yard, the wide rooms. It’s near your dad’s karting facility, it’s near Paris, and if it’s near Paris we can get anywhere else.” Daniel begins enumerating, his voice smooth. He reaches out to hold Jean-Éric’s hands in his. “And we’ll be living together! There’s no way in hell I won’t be happy with you around.”_  
  
 _“I... I just thought for some reason you’d agreed to move here so as not to disappoint me, because I wanted to come back home so badly after all this time.” Jean-Éric explains, his tone still subdued, his head still lowered. “I know we’ve agreed, I know we’ve come this far, but I was afraid of that anyway. I don’t want that, I really don’t.”_  
  
 _“Hey, hey now, what’s that?” Daniel asks, lifting Jean-Éric’s chin with a finger while keeping the other hand clasped with his. “Don’t be afraid. The whereabouts don’t really matter as long as you’re on my side, I swear. And I like it here a lot. You know damn that if I didn’t, I’d annoy you endlessly about it. That’s definitely not the case. Come on.”_  
  
 _He opens his arms and takes Jean-Éric into an embrace, tightening his arms around his lean frame, burying his face in his collarbone. He didn’t need to worry about it, and he says so in his ear; he didn’t have to doubt it, and he confirms it with a kiss. Daniel still remembers how he felt in his arms, after all this time, how he fit in like it was always meant to be. Jean-Éric reaches out for him and sighs, seemingly more at peace._  
  
 _“Oh! And I’ll get to brush up on my French too! That’s another good reason to move in here! Maybe the best one, actually!” Daniel continues, beaming again, playfully nudging Jean-Éric in the ribs to get a self-conscious smile in response._ _“Et je suis sûr que tu m’aideras avec la langue?”_  
  
 _“Mais, ainsi je n’aurai pas t’aider, tu déjà parles parfaitement!”_ _He laughs and the whole of Daniel’s face lights up, both from being able to understand what Jean-Éric said and from feeling the blush blossoming on his cheeks. “I’m serious, that’s pretty good! I’m quite impressed. Of course I’ll help you out in getting even better at that, yeah.”_  
  
 _“Bien, bien, je-” Daniel chimes up, ready to try some more of his painstakingly learned French, but Jean-Éric stops him, choosing to return the embrace then; Daniel decides the practice can come later, as can the unpacking. For now, he enjoys the embrace, and the newly appeased Jean-Éric, and the future that is just beginning to be outlined underneath their feet. Its destination is still unknown, but he knows the journey ahead will be more than worth it. It’s quiet for a moment, and what Jean-Éric says next, he carries within for the rest of his life._  
  
 _“It’ll be a good home. With you, I know it will.”_  
  
  
And it would be indeed, for the many years that came afterwards.  
  
By the end of the second week, as his new routine softly settles down on him like a loose translucent cover, he begins to find memory is a damned thing; he can’t stop remembering, nor does he think he’ll ever be able to stop remembering. For the most part, the memories are of a better time, a time spent in the company of the man that he better knew, in places not restricted to the house they lived in. The act of remembering, in itself, is difficult even if natural; after all, it reminds him that it’s all in the past, and the present he is in now and the future he’ll have to live on are lonely ones.  
  
They will be lonely ones, but the task he set upon himself keeps him going.  
  


***

  
Outside, the wind stirs the wires and birds nested in the trees chirp happily as he goes down the street to buy food; outside, sun falls and moon rises, and the avenue they live near bustles to life, blossoming into energy, noise and light. Outside, there’s the roar of engines, there’s the chatter of busy passersby, there’s the metallic wheezing of bicycle wheels, there’s the low moan of planes circling high above and leaving no message of their own, there’s the crackling of wood and the clatter of windows. All sorts of daily hubbub come to his ears, but now that Daniel is alone, silence surrounds him at all sides nonetheless.  
  
One day, out of a sense of wistful longing, he unlocks the door to the room adjoined to theirs and approaches the ponderous grand piano sprawled on a corner. He sits at its bench and lifts the lid, staring at each ivory and each charcoal key intently, running the palm of his hand over them in a sweeping motion. Then, he strikes a single key; its tinkle, however disjointed and out of tune it comes out as, is enough to agitate him again.  
  
  
 _Daniel arrives home with his mind overflowing, worried about what’s about to happen, about the reception they’ve decided to throw and everything that needs to be organized for it; were those other times, were those Junior Team times, he would have suggested the easy way out: copious amounts of beer and a full fledged, hearty, loud Australian barbecue in the wide yard behind the house. Nothing too fancy, nothing too complicated; now, however, he knows it should be something more proper than that, and that was the difficult part, of course. Deep down, he still preferred the undemanding nature of the barbecue, but his mind was already made up, and as usual he felt as eager to get things going; in that moment his mind swarms: what to do, who to invite, when to host it? Questions litter around unanswered for the time being, and unanswered they will remain for a while, as he opens the front door and is met by lovely sounds drifting through the air._  
  
 _He follows the uncoiling trail of harmonies and tones down the living room and through windy corridors, and the reception is no longer that much of a concern, at least not immediately; as he moves further and music becomes deeper and louder, he wishes to be immersed in its vigorous energy instead. The promise made by its reverberating rhythms leads him onwards until he finds Jean-Éric at last, playing the piano with his back turned to the door, his frame poised, his hands moving left and right in precise symmetry._  
  
 _Daniel stands in silence, mesmerised by the sight._  
  
 _Despite his pleas, Jean-Éric hadn’t played in a while; since they had moved in together a couple of years before, he had played only a handful of times, complaining he shouldn’t as he had gotten too little practice with the hectic schedules they found themselves wrapped in. Yet he had unexpectedly found the time to play, striking down the keys as passionately as he once did._  
  
 _It never mattered to Daniel whether Jean-Éric had been practicing too little or too much; he had always been a self-described lover of music, of any kind of music he felt that struck a chord within himself or related to a certain moment or mood, and to find out Jean-Éric played an instrument only helped in deepening certain affections Daniel was tentatively beginning to discover, understand and nurture. At that point, those were the very early stages, nothing but smatterings of confusing emotion that would remain as such for some time as they got to know each other, as they moved within streets from each other’s apartments, as they became inseparable companions in a town unfamiliar to both and in a team they had much to learn and much to work if they wanted their futures to equal the expectations they longed for._  
  
 _That was to change, however, on the strength of the piano again, on the first time Jean-Éric agreed to not only play something for Daniel, but did so in front of him, all the way back in 2010 at the end of a long, cold weekend spent away from their second home. It was late in the night, they were possibly the only people still awake in the tiny hotel, and the deserted music room held quite the intriguing prospect inside. There were whispers and banter and muffled giggles as Daniel struggled with the door handle and the lights, but then, once the imaginary stage was prepped and the casual pianist took the seat to play, a solemn silence fell upon them. Daniel studied his figure then as he does now, sinking in the outpour of sound, and took it to the heart along with the significance of both that weekend and to be partaking of that particular manner of expression of his. There was, then, a mysterious sense of intimacy pervading not only the act but the room itself that he would seldom experience with anybody else, in any other moment and in any other activity; it had all the makings of having a soul first torn open and then laid bare at his feet, of having reached a point in their relationship where enough mutual trust enabled something so profoundly a part of Jean-Éric to be shared between the two of them._  
  
 _In this moment, Daniel feels the same closeness all over again, as potent as before, and words fail him. He listens, and nods along, and feels the stirring inside him._  
  
 _“I’m glad you’re playing, you hadn’t done so in a while now.” He muses once Jean-Éric is finished, only then daring to approach him. “I missed it.”_  
  
 _Jean-Éric shakes his head and scratches the back of his neck, seeming to find himself endearingly embarrassed at Daniel’s acknowledgement and the fact he was so deeply into his playing that he did not notice there was an audience of one watching him._  
  
 _“I’ve played better before, you know.”_  
  
 _“You still play great, you just haven’t played in some time, that’s all.” Daniel nudges him aside, to share the seat with him. “I still think you could have had a career in music had things in motorsport not panned out, you know. There’d be lots of options. Playing in pubs, or maybe busking in the streets with a little keyboard, I don’t know...”_  
  
 _Jean-Éric rolls his eyes at the obvious mockery._  
  
 _“Or maybe getting to become a music star, surely that could be an option too?”_  
  
 _Daniel laughs bashfully, a finger rubbing across the dark wooden edge of the piano._  
  
 _“Absolutely, yeah, you’d be one to go all out until you made it big.”_  
  
 _“Ah, I might like to play the piano, but my heart wouldn’t have been in a music career as it is in a motorsport career. I always loved racing more, I still do. Luckily for me, I got the career I wanted in the field I wanted and it turned out to be the right choice, right?”_  
  
 _“Well, yeah, it certainly did. You went all out until you made it big.” Daniel echoes his previous words, as truthful as they still remain; he never doubted Jean-Éric would go on fighting until he achieved what he wanted. His smile drops slightly, but a shade of it still hangs on his lips. “I wouldn’t mind hearing you play every day, though.”_  
  
 _“Oh, really?” Jean-Éric pipes up, his voice amused. “I should have made you a record, then! Several copies, so you can listen to them anytime you want to! While you drive, while you work out, while you’re in the shower...”_  
  
 _It’s Daniel’s turn to roll his eyes._  
  
 _“Come on, I’m being serious here for once and you’re mocking me! I like when you play, I like it- I like it **a lot**.” He laughs, but makes sure to stress it out, clearing his throat afterwards, his cheeks blushing at the admission that Jean-Éric’s playing skills leave him feeling far more than absolutely enthralled. “Does this mean you’ll be playing more often now? Say yes.”_  
  
 _He sounds hopeful, expectant even, for the reply._  
  
 _“I’ll try. I don’t remember a lot, but I’ll try. I think I still have my music sheets somewhere, maybe in those boxes I never got around to unpack.” He pauses, resting his fingers on the keys. “I didn’t know you were listening. I’d have played something else, had I known.”_  
  
 _“You were very... **eager**  on your playing, yeah, it doesn’t surprise me you didn’t notice. Not to mention, I’ve arrived earlier than expected, there was no way you’d know I was here.” Daniel grins, but it’s a fleeting one this time; he clutches one of Jean-Éric’s hands in his in a sudden movement. “Play again. Play anything. Please.”_  
  
 _Jean-Éric shoots him a half-daring, half-bashful sideway glance; with a proud smile, he lifts his hands and resumes his musical interlude. It begins as astounding as before, just as moving as it was minutes ago; his brow is furrowed, his eyes are intensely focused on the keys and the striking sounds they make, his lips are pursed in concentration and Daniel watches on, enticed. A minute or so later, he simpers, but he’s quick to close his eyes and remain attentive; some time later, he does it again, but this time, he doesn’t try to hide it._  
  
 _“Stop it, Dan.”_  
  
 _“What? I’m not doing-”_  
  
 _“You’re distracting me.”_  
  
 _“Oh? Am I?” Daniel feigns innocence, turning around the seat so his legs are hanging on each side and he can face Jean-Éric directly. “I’m so sorry, but it’s not something I can actively stop doing, you know. But hey, it’s not like you’ve stopped playing entirely either, I’m certainly not that much of a distraction.”_  
  
 _“Yes, you are,” he replies, the smile now too spread out across his face to be contained, his fingers still swift in their dance across the keyboard, his eyes never moving away from the piano. “You’re very distracting when you’re so close to me.”_  
  
 _“Funny, I’ve never heard any complaints before coming from you. I wonder why... I guess it’s because I’m not actually that close.” Daniel grins, decided to tease him instead. He scoots closer to Jean-Éric, close enough that their knees touch, and leans in, careful enough not to disrupt his playing or get in the way of his arms. “Is this any better?”_  
  
 _The question comes by means of a hot-breathed, hushed whisper to the hollow of his ear, loud enough for it to drift over the sound until it reaches Jean-Éric’s ear, but soft enough for it to remain between only the two of them, sinking down the cascade of notes emerging from the piano like the intimate secret it was meant to be. The intimacy the piano always brings upon them casts itself in evidence once again, as it would many times afterwards, and the whisper goes down slowly, at the mercy of the melody, further and further down within themselves, until it disappears completely; when it disappears completely is when Jean-Éric lifts his hands away from the keyboard and onto Daniel’s neck to pull him in for a kiss._  
  
 _There is silence, but only on the outside; as they kiss, the music plays on._  
  
  
Now the life of the piano, of any piano, had been silenced. Much to Daniel’s chagrin, it would remain so; much to his chagrin, he would have to make do with the minimal, elusive sounds of everything else, everything that was left behind to him.  
  


***

 

There was nothing he could do to freeze time in its tracks or to manipulate it in any tangible way, Daniel learned on the day Jean-Éric passed away. Time could not be stopped, nor could clocks be made to turn back time; as minutes drip through the hours and daily chores and activities fill his hands, his mind is instead floored by the unending stream of remembrance. Time goes on, and a month becomes two, then three, then when he least expects it, he finds himself in a new year he’s not entirely sure will entail anything fruitful.

Winter feels even longer now; he has always preferred the balmier days of summer and the freshness of spring, and as he grew older, this preference only reinforced itself. The only drearier winter he remembers ever experiencing in his life was the first one spent in Europe. A stranger in a strange land he was, missing his home, his friends, his family; nights were spent in the company of books and old movies in the television, days were spent in anticipation of the weekends he was to race, and those weekends were always the golden highlight of his months, when the freedom he had always derived from motorsport was his to take again. His entire future depended on the results he garnered, and he did his best. He did succeed at last, but those were tough, threadbare times nonetheless.

That was before Estoril.

That was before the Junior Team.

That was before Jean-Éric.

He was quiet at first, maybe too quiet for his own good, wrapped in the kind of quietness usually mistaken for arrogance or pretension; he didn’t approach the other drivers vying for the coveted positions in Red Bull’s programme, and it was Daniel who first came to talk to him, late in the second day of testing. Sitting by himself in the grandstands when he arrived, Daniel still remembers his cautious words and his well-tempered, if reticent, demeanor. This was only the first impression, however, and despite what people say about first impressions, it was not a lasting one; by the time they met again the next morning, Jean-Éric seemed more relaxed, and the conversation, which lasted all the way to the airport and until Daniel had to catch his departing flight, ended with both wishing each other heartfelt goodbyes and good lucks.

 

 _“Looks like I’m stuck with you, huh.” Jean-Éric states unceremoniously the next time they meet again, a few weeks later in the Red Bull headquarters in Milton Keynes. His tone is more amused than anything, and Daniel doesn’t feel put down at all. “They wouldn’t tell me who else had made it, not that I think they were trying to make a surprise out of it, but good to see that it’s you. Congratulations.”_

 _He extends a hand; it’s warm, its grip firm._

 _“Likewise, mate. You were damn fast out there throughout the tests. I’m glad you made it too, you were very deserving of it.” Daniel smiles sincerely as he shakes his hand, seeing no reason to pretend he wasn’t happy that Jean-Éric had been chosen to be part of the Junior Team as well. It turns to a more mischievous grin within seconds. “You say that like it’s a bad thing though, I’m **awesome**  to be stuck with.”_

 _Jean-Éric laughs, his eyes squinting._

 _“Yeah, I’m sure you are. I can see that already.” He motions his head to the left, knitting his brow in amusement. The shadow of a smile still dances on his lips. “Hopefully all that awesomeness doesn’t wear off after a while and by the end of the season we can barely stand to look at each other’s face.”_

 _“You’ll see! I won’t even ask for the benefit of doubt because I know it’ll happen.”_

 _“Fair enough.” Jean-Éric nods, and Daniel will be damned if he doesn’t remember exactly how he looked that day, his skinny frame hidden underneath fading blue jeans and a woolen grey sweater, his tawny hair cut very short. “Have you moved in yet?”_

 _“Yeah, this weekend. The apartment’s maybe 15 minutes from here. You?”_

 _“I’m still staying at a hotel. I got delayed in France, and then here as well. You know when everything that can go wrong does go wrong?” Daniel acquiesces at the pause, and Jean-Éric sighs, glancing down. “My parents are coming over this weekend to help me out-”_

 _“You’re welcome to bunk down at my apartment if you want to, y’know.” Daniel chimes up suddenly, unexpectedly even to himself; when he realizes it, he’s scratching and fiddling at the sides of his thumb nail with a finger. He wasn’t really nervous, which was what usually prompted such fidgeting; it was more like the result of the energetic restlessness surging through ever since the fateful message came through confirming his future was secured. “I got a spare mattress. I mean, no sense in spending your money with that if you can stay somewhere else for free.”_

 _“I... wow. Thank you, Daniel. It’s very kind of you to make that offer.” He shyly says, astonished at the turn of events. “Won’t I get in your way, though?”_

 _“Not at all, nope. You can stay for however long you wish to. It’ll be good to have a familiar face around for a change,” Daniel replies, his tone honest, because it was fact. He missed having someone to talk to, he dreaded having to fall into the same listless routine of the previous year, he feared he wouldn’t have someone to relate to. He was always the friendly type, and he surely would get to know many people over time, but right then, Jean-Éric was in the same situation as his. Daniel needed people around to thrive, and he didn’t see then why couldn’t they be close._

 _“Alright, then.” Jean-Éric nods, giving him a pleasing smile. “What do you say, shall we head out for some coffee once we’re finished here?”_

 _“Sounds like a plan, mate.”_

 _“Coffee’s on me, by the way.”_

 _“You don’t need to-” Daniel begins to protest, only to be briskly cut off._

 _“I’m allowed to stay at your place but I’m not allowed to buy you coffee? That makes no sense.” Jean-Éric points out, an eyebrow raised that soon transforms into a generous smile. “Come on, let me. I want to.”_

 _“Fine, fine.” Daniel agrees, still a bit unsure. “But only this time.”_

 

There would be many more coffees to come in the months afterwards, in the middle of the afternoon, in the small kitchen of Jean-Éric’s apartment, in whatever coffee house that happened to be the nearest to where they were; he had to admit, however, that none of those would equal that one, the very first time they went out for something on their own, but in the company of each other. Some things leave such lasting marks that nothing is capable of erasing or undoing them, however small or simple they might be, and that beginning was such a time. A simple conversation over cups of coffee and laughter, and there it was, the first push had been given with little to no effort. Later that day, Jean-Éric checked out of the hotel; he would stay at Daniel’s for three and a half days, and Daniel would turn out to be another pair of hands helping in the moving.

Jean-Éric would call him, after he had left for his own apartment, sunk deep in a well of doubt, unable to sleep, unable to get any rest. He did leave the apartment, but not entirely, and Daniel did not mind it at all; he would not hesitate to cross the city to see him, whatever hour it was. Jean-Éric was not the most expansive person, or even the most lively at times, but he seemed to be far more at ease with Daniel, since the first moment; thus, their long conversations dragged themselves into the night and by talking, they would come to so many unbecoming conclusions, to so many perfect plans, to so many ideas that seemed impossible reveries instead, to so many opinions that sometimes seemed to come from the same mind. He had understood Jean-Éric perfectly, and found out that even in his reserved manner, he flourished just as he himself did, in the presence of other people; so, together, they flourished. Month came after month, and soon they were exchanging the deepest confidences as if they already had known each other for years over airplane seats, after debriefings and during long car trips; soon, this routine of exchange became familiar, and still Daniel did not mind.

In hindsight, Daniel doesn’t think there was a moment he didn’t love Jean-Éric, not even on those early green days in Milton Keynes; it was perhaps the love of a friend then, but it was love nonetheless. He loved him still when they were rivalling each other on the track and they promised to not let those disputes get in the way of what they had outside of the track, and the heightened sense of adrenaline brought by the challenge made his heart beat even faster when he was informed it was time to attempt an overtake on Jean-Éric. He loved him still when different racing categories kept them apart, flung across the globe for months until the next reunion felt like the first time, and he loved him still even after a fight, after exchanging harsh words and sentences that only made sense in the heat of the moment. It was always love, it didn’t matter if he had already realized it by then or if it was still only an inkling of a feeling, of if it was the love of a friend or of a comrade; it was love, and it rooted its way in himself season after season, year after year; it rooted itself in so deeply, it became such a vital part of himself that he thought it would last forever.

He was wrong.  


***

  
On and on he goes, in his task of scavenging and safekeeping, of building a cocoon out of the fabric memories are made of; one day, after old friends make a visit long due, the conversation turns to championships and prizes won, and they wander down to the trophy room, where even more stories are exchanged. His heart is warmed, and laughter flows once again from his lips like it did on his younger years. Once they leave under the shadow of the waning day promising to come back soon, he considers locking it again, but changes his mind almost immediately. Pouring himself another glass of wine, he inspects row after row of trophies, shining under the bright yellow lights mounted underneath the shelves.

All of their trophies are there: from the simpler ones of karting days to the more exquisite ones from individual races, all full of color and abstraction; from British Formula 3, to Jean-Éric’s Le Mans trophies, to the Formula Renault vice-championships, to a row containing only Formula 1 world championship trophies: four from himself, two from Jean-Éric. Their whole motorsport history is detailed there; the trophies represent not only each win, but the inevitable defeats that happened along the way as well. They linger in the enclosed air, invisible but impossible to be completely extricated.

 

 _Daniel knocks once or twice on the door; it doesn’t take him long to realize an answer will not come. He knocks once more, and still there’s no answer; he tries the doorknob, and much to his surprise, the door opens. He comes inside Jean-Éric’s very familiar apartment, and it looks almost as if there’s nobody there at all: the curtains are drawn, the kitchen sink is empty, the sofa is immaculately clean. He is alarmed, and the possibility that Jean-Éric had gone directly to France crosses his mind, but the idea quickly vanishes as he paces across the living room; he’d never have left the door unlocked like that, he might be crazy, but certainly not careless, and he had training scheduled for the week as well-_

 _A whimper surfaces from the bedroom, and that’s where Daniel finds him._

 _Only a slice of light from the window breaches through the darkness inside. Jean-Éric is motionless when Daniel appears in the doorway, and motionless he remains in the brief moments that follow, his features almost numb. Sitting on his bed, back leaning against the bare white wall, Jean-Éric does not dare to look aside or to acknowledge his arrival. A couple of bottles of wine and an abandoned glass litter the floor, and he seems so entrenched in that spot that Daniel thinks he might have dropped there upon arriving and had yet to get up. Chances were the door had been left open on purpose, for the moment Daniel would finally be free of everything else to come to him. And indeed, that was what happened: once Daniel had heard of how the final round had gone through, he did what he could to come to Jean-Éric as soon as possible._

 _Daniel knew Jean-Éric was sure that he’d come, and there he was at last._

 _He was there at last, and he was soon sitting by his side. Jean-Éric seemed barely able to perceive his presence; all he knew was to stare at the point directly in front of his eyes, and his world seemed encapsulated by the wardrobe, the mirror by its side, the suitcase by its feet wide open and half-undone, the carpet that had seen better days before. Face withdrawn, mouth traced shut, hair dishevelled, just the shell of the man that had excitedly said his goodbyes to Daniel as the latter left for Japan and called him every day to both tell him he had a good feeling for the weekend and to hear Daniel’s own predictions regarding Suzuka. The most definite defeat seemed to have brought itself down on his body in such a way that he was not worthy of rising from that corner ever again; Daniel opens his mouth to say something, but Jean-Éric is faster._

 _“I don’t deserve any of this.”_

 _His voice is thick, as if unused for an eternity, rising from some deep, hidden tear in the ground; there doesn’t seem to be a hint of crying to it, even if his eyes are red._

 _“Don’t say that-”_

 _“I **don’t** , okay? I really don’t.” He gestures towards the suitcase with a motion of his head. “I don’t deserve that trophy there. I don’t deserve the other wins or their trophies, I don’t deserve the vice-championship. A long year of hard work thrown in the garbage because I’m an idiot.” He scoffs briefly. “I’m such a loser, I’m not sure even if I’m deserving of your attention or your company. You have better things to do than to sit here-”_

 _“JEV!” Daniel yelps in reproach, louder than he expected it to come out. His eyes widen, unable to say anything else, and that’s how Jean-Éric sees him as he decides to finally concede Daniel a glance. He’s shocked, more than anything else, at Jean-Éric’s assumption that he wasn’t deserving of his attention. It still perplexes him now, the vehement certainty he had of that; Jean-Éric couldn’t have been more wrong because Daniel’s undivided attention was already his no matter what, no matter when, no matter where. By then, it was already a realized notion, and it laid offered at his feet._

 _“It’s all my fault. Every crash, every mistake, every single thing I should have done that I didn’t; it’s all on me. It’s all reflected now in the results I got. I’m all to blame.” Now, it’s his eyes that are shut tight. “Not the car, not the team. They’re not to blame. I did it all wrong. And because of that, because I fucked up time after time, I’m here now.”_

 _Daniel sighs, but not out of irritation or impatience; it was quite the contrary. It was commiseration. One year ago, he himself was there, in Jean-Éric’s shoes, it was him swallowed by the same sort of suffering and by the same sensation of desperate helplessness. It was himself there, crestfallen, fearful of what was to come, frustrated and desolated, hoping darkness would allow him to use itself as a hideout for as long as he could. He knew all of that; he knew how it hurt, but he also knew he could rise again after the storm. He had been there, he had gone through the same process the year before, and he was up for the challenge again, stronger than he was before, more confident than ever._

 _He had been there and Jean-Éric had been by his side then._

 _Jean-Éric had been there and had been the one to push him forward again._

 _“JEV, stop blaming yourself. It wasn’t your fault-”_

 _“Yes, it was!” Jean-Éric’s voice cracks through the air like a whip. “I know it was!”_

 _“It’s incredible how hard-headed you can be when you want to!” Daniel groans, shaking his head in disbelief before continuing. “You did your best, you did what you could. You were fast, you were aggressive - hell, you battled it to the end, down to the last race. I was there for most of the season, I’ve seen how driven you were throughout it. You weren’t at fault for anything, anything at all.”_

 _Jean-Éric quiets down for a moment, his eyes lowered. When he speaks up again, his voice is still tinged of the deepest shade of despondency._

 _“You’re the only one who believes that.”_

 _“I do, but so do you. I know you. Deep down inside you already do. Some things you cannot predict, some things you cannot avoid, but you have to know you did your best, and that next year, you’ll do even better. You have that in you. You’re never satisfied, and that’s what keeps you in motion, pushing and pushing until you accomplish your ultimate goal. You’ll be even faster than you already are, you’ll see.” He grins. “Look at it this way, there’s still a challenge there for you to beat, there’s still one step to climb, and that’s the fun of it! Once you do, you’ll have one upped them once and for all!’_

 _Jean-Éric gives him a feeble smile._

 _“It’s so tough, you know,” he continues, his voice small. “And I know you know, because you’ve been there before. All eyes are on you, watching as you go, watching you push, watching you struggle. It hurts that when you fall, it’s before everyone. Everyone sees it, everyone acknowledges it as being due to your own mistakes and nothing else.”_

 _“Yeah, I guess you can’t really avoid not being watched, and really, we’re at a point in our careers where there are a lot of people watching us. Watching, analysing, studying, the whole deal. Everyone’s waiting for us to prove ourselves. But I guess that’s the beauty of it. When you do it, when you’re able to prove yourself in front of them, it’s rewarding. I guess it’s the best motivation that there can be, that possibility of impressing everyone.”_

 _“Not when you fail at that too, like I did.” Jean-Éric sighs. “I’ve disappointed everyone. The team, my family, the fans. Everyone who was watching. What if that’s it? What if that’s the end, what if they decide to drop me from the Junior Team? That’s what I’m afraid of. That’s what I’m truly afraid of, of losing everything.”_

 _“Now, this was your first full season on Formula Renault, and I’m not saying that just to be nice, but it’s been an impressive one nonetheless. You are vice-champion, you had five wins and a slew of podiums to your name. It might not have ended the way you wanted, you know, you didn’t get the cherry on top of the sundae but you still should be proud of what you achieved. They’ll still keep their eyes on you, though. There’ll be a bit of extra pressure, I guess, but I wouldn’t be worried about losing the seat.” Daniel pauses, his eyes sincere as he gazes at Jean-Éric’s forlorn figure. “Either way, you didn’t disappoint me, if that counts for anything.”_

 _“Yeah, you do have a point. It’s not the end.” Daniel nods enthusiastically at that, but Jean-Éric sniffles slightly, scratching at his leg impatiently. “It’s still a big blow to the confidence, though. I felt like I had taken a punch to the gut the moment I climbed out of the car, and it still hasn’t stopped hurting.”_

 _“It won’t hurt after so long, I promise. I mean it. It makes you stronger.”_

 _Jean-Éric seems to assent, but the pensive air still persists over him; for a moment, there is nothing but hardened silence hanging between them. Even while stuck in a sleepless trip back home, in a long and winding flight, Daniel thought of Jean-Éric and what he expected to find once he arrived: he did expect to meet anguish and fear, and also to find doubt and desolation, but he did not expect a pair of desperate arms seeking encouragement in himself. His heart beats oddly out of tune again when Jean-Éric buries his head on his shoulder, in the same way it went uncontrolled whenever skin brushed against skin, in the same way only Jean-Éric was able to cause it in himself; at that moment, Daniel felt as if he too had been hit full on by Jean-Éric’s failure, and he closes his eyes._

 _“JEV...”_

 _“Shhh.”_

 _Daniel pulls the younger man and doesn’t let him go. They remain in silence, sitting on the bed with their backs to the wall, arms entwined inside a silent promise made a long time ago, in a day like that, in a place nearby, under a sun almost as bright. An eternity passes by in their stillness and silence, and Daniel allows what surrounds them to have a hand in the healing. Their breathing is simultaneous, as if they were one; they are united again, side by side, as they had been so many times before, but this time, it feels different. This time, they bond in a sudden, warm quietude, and inside it, it seems clear that there was no one else that could take the place of the other. Immersed in that need of having each other near that was present since the first moment, they find mutual understanding once again; this time, it is so pungent that Daniel finds himself embracing Jean-Éric with a strength he was not aware of possessing until then. He embraces Jean-Éric as if his flattened hands could reach deep within his core and tear out the entirety of the jarring feeling rattling him; he embraces him as if he could absorb all the uncertainty that still haunts him and only the Jean-Éric he has grown used to would remain._

 _He embraces Jean-Éric as if there was no tomorrow._

 _“It does count a lot, by the way.”_

 _“What?”_

 _“That you’re not disappointed in me.” He shifts around in Daniel’s arms so he can look him in the eye. “Thank you.”_

 _Daniel glances down at him, a small smile to his lips._

 _“You don’t need to thank me for it. I could never be disappointed by you, JEV.”_

 _Nested in the fondness they have for each other, and in the care he invests in Jean-Éric, the odd thought that they are almost lovers crosses Daniel’s mind for an instant; that the feeling he harbored for Jean-Éric was bound tight enough around his heart to not die anytime soon was something he was sure of, but he also had a hunch it was a hopeless one to have. Even so, it was not something he could so easily get rid of, and moments of emotional closeness such as this one only helped in rekindling the hope that there was something else to that embrace from Jean-Éric. There was much he wanted to add to what he had just said, that his mind and his heart were already taken by the sincerity Jean-Éric had always given to him, that his affection was nothing but the result of how their relationship had always been and that he could only reciprocate in the manner he found best; he thought about saying so many things that they all died in his throat, in the hurry of wanting to tell him everything but managing nothing out._

 _“Dan, if I asked you...” He pauses, a tentative look crossing his face. “If I asked you to stay the night, would you? I’ve been alone since my parents went back home on Monday, and I’m- I’m tired of being alone.”_

 _“Of course,” Daniel says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’d do anything for you.”_

 _“I know,” Jean-Éric murmurs, getting a hold of Daniel’s hand in his. There’s something to his voice that makes Daniel’s head spin, there’s something to the heat emanating from the points of contact of their bodies that is almost feverish, and his cheeks blush wildly. He lifts Daniel’s hand to his face, and Daniel finds he can’t focus on anything else, eyes glued in anticipation of what will come next. Leaning Daniel’s hand on his own, he studies it carefully, as if he’d never seen it before, and caresses a vertical line across his palm, his touch featherlight, before holding it again. It was the simplest gesture, but Daniel was already astonished because it was happening; when he turns it around and plants his lips on its back, his fingers twitch instinctively and he forgets what it’s like to breathe entirely._

 _It lingers._

 _“I- you- I- JEV, I-” he stammers, flustered, mind in a whirl of colorful emotion._

 _“I’m tired of being alone, yes,” Jean-Éric says calmly, so calm it’s almost unnerving, so calm Daniel would have never figured out inside he’s burning too; that, he would only learn later. “Because I’ve spent the past couple of days wallowing here on my own misery, yes, but also because I couldn’t wait to see you again. I couldn’t wait for you to come, and I couldn’t wait for all that you unfailingly bring with yourself. Your words, your strength, your support. You’re always by my side, but not in the way I want to. And I’m tired of that. Get it? Why wait any longer for the one I love, if he happens to be standing by my side?”_

 _Daniel feels untied, loose, tempted to reach for the spark that turned out to be alive inside them both; he had known about Jean-Éric for a couple of years now, but how could he have guessed that he himself was the object of his affections? Jean-Éric’s words still ring and lilt in his ears, the greatest song he has ever heard, and yet he’s still frozen in place, stupidly motionless, stupidly trying to come up with a signal, a movement, a way to confirm to Jean-Éric that yes, he **gets it** , because he feels the same. Inside, he feels erratic, but elated, and panicked, but joyful; he must find something before Jean-Éric changes his mind, and then, he’s moving forward, and cupping his face with a hand, and it all makes sense._

 _Then, the kiss comes. It comes quick and unwound, released of tension; it comes unexpectedly eager and desperate, under the rhythm of the hot, discomposed shudder that sprawls itself equally across their bodies. It comes as if there was nothing left to lose or to conquer beyond that; it comes as if it was the first and the last, as if it was the end and the beginning, as if it was a seal and a promise, all at once._

 _When they come up to breathe, Jean-Éric holds him tight against his chest and pulls him down so they lie together; his fingers tangle on his unruly curls, and Daniel still remembers the shiver and the disjointed sigh resulting from that simple movement. His own hand caresses his jawbone, and it’s Jean-Éric’s turn to sigh. Daniel lifts his lips: he kisses his forehead and his temples, then his lips again, and, when they part, Jean-Éric gives him the satisfied smile of someone who has made peace with all that troubled him._

 _It’s more than enough to make Daniel throb with happiness._

 _“What now?” Jean-Éric asks, arms still wrapped around him._

 _“I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out by ourselves as we go along,” Daniel replies, gazing intently at Jean-Éric. “What do you say?”_

 _“Sounds good to me.” He nods, then bites his lower lip. “You really staying over?”_

 _“No, I’m just counting down the minutes because I can’t wait to go back to my apartment. Seriously, I can’t believe you just asked that, JEV.” Daniel tries to imprint an annoyed tone and a glare to the words, but to no avail, not when he feels the exact opposite of that. “Yeah, I am. I’ll be here with you, for as long as you want me to.”_

 

Such was the way it had gone through; such was their way. Sorrow and delight were always intimately interlocked, and were always constant companions in life just like they were; each moment was open towards discovery and understanding. It was a path meant to be trodden step by step, deliberately, not with the rush or the haste they had grown used to in their field of work, and they did so. First in the remainder of that day and the night that followed, then in the next day, and so on, for the remainder of that year, for the remainder of all the years that would come afterwards. Looking ahead, they never saw the end of it; all they knew was to keep following the path they were laying in front of them.

Daniel isn’t sure if the wine had a hand in it, or if the memories he has reeled in stirred deeper than he imagined, but that evening, after almost two years without Jean-Éric, he dreams of him for the first time, and for some reason, it turns out to leave a taste far more bittersweet than he expected it to have once he wakes up the next day.

***

Not all the memories are happy ones; not all the moments were peaceful ones. Daniel digs on and on in his never ending task, and the deeper he searches, the darker it becomes.

 

 _Daniel never raised his voice; he could count on his fingers the times he had gotten angry -- truly, deeply, blindingly angry -- over something, and even at those times, he was not the kind of person who would make a show out of his anger. He never raised his voice, nor did he ever let his temper blow up to uncontrollable proportions either, but this time, his world was turned upside down with a handful of sentences, and that in itself made it all the more peculiar. Such was the rage he felt, it was like he was not himself at all; in the rare occasions he was exasperated, it would manifest itself in different manners, not in the red-hot irritation swelling inside himself at the moment. He never raised his voice, and yet this time, he wanted to pour out it out by way of noise._

 _He wanted to scream at Jean-Éric, and that made it an even odder instance._

 _“What the hell was all this about?” He lifts the half-folded, half-crumpled piece of printed paper to his eyes, to once again read the words he had gone through so many times in the past day, he had almost memorized them already. “‘We don’t see each other away from the track and we are not friends’?”_

 _“I had to say those things!” Jean-Éric protests. “What did you expect me to say?”_

 _“I could have never expected you to say any of those things! Never!” His voice rises, and so does his indignation. “Do you have any idea how surprised I was when my phone began ringing? Do you have any idea how confused I was to find out all of this through the press? Good god, JEV, through the fucking press! I had to find out through the press that we don’t have anything, that we are not friends anymore!”_

 _It was more than confusion, it was more than surprise; it was the sense of being thrown so off course by something Daniel could not have seen coming that he simply did not know what to do. He did not know what any of those things meant, or what Jean-Éric’s intended message was; taking them at face value, however, left behind a bitter taste in his mouth and a feeling he could only describe as deception._

 _“You didn’t answer me!” Jean-Éric shouts back at him. “What did you expect me to tell the press? What should I have told them? Do please enlighten me! Hadn’t we agreed that we’d keep things separated?”_

 _“We did, but you didn’t need to say it the way you did! You didn’t need to go to the press and say those things!”_

 _“We agreed to keep things separated, Dan! We agreed it, don’t you remember? I don’t understand why you’re so upset!” Jean-Éric looks bewildered, and to Daniel’s impression, as confused as he is, but for entirely different reasons. “On the track, we’re not friends, we never were! That’s what I was talking about! Nothing more, nothing less!”_

 _“I... why do I get the feeling it’s not that?” It hurts, it hurts to even think about that, it hurts to even consider the possibility there’s more to Jean-Éric’s words than the mere press diversion they had agreed to give out. “What happened? What did I do?”_

 _“You didn’t do anything! Come on, Dan, stop pretending. Stop pretending I did something wrong. Stop it! We had agreed to something and now you’re angry that I followed through with it! What’s wrong with you?”_

 _“I- what the hell?” Daniel swallows dry, and he finds there are tears welling in his eyes. “What’s wrong with me? With **me**? You weren’t man enough to come to me and voice your dissatisfaction, and  **I** am the one with the problem? Really?”_

 _Jean-Éric shakes his head, his mouth twisted._

 _“You’re too worked up now, Dan. This discussion isn’t going to go anywhere.”_

 _“I just can’t understand why you didn’t tell me before. Why couldn’t you have said it to my face, before saying it to the press? Why?”_

 _“It’s not like what **you**  told them was any better, either.” Jean-Éric is incisive, to the point like he always was. “I’m not overreacting because you said it’s good we keep our distance, or that we’ve grown apart with the competition. I know that from a working perspective, it’s true, but only from that perspective. Elsewhere, it’s not, and you know that too. Sooner or later, we’d get asked by the press about what kind of relationship we have. God, Dan, you’re doubting what we had agreed. You’re doubting me.”_

 _Daniel crumples the paper up, his mind simmering in turmoil, in rage, in fear, in aversion, in the multitude of emotions he wished not to dwell, let alone dwell in them because of Jean-Éric; they were never meant to go down that road, they were never meant to have that sort of misunderstanding, they were never meant to do that to each other. It was wrong, it was all wrong, backwards, mistaken; he had run his mouth like a fool, he had made a show out of his anger, and the result was right before his eyes._

 _Jean-Éric was wounded, and it was all his fault._

 _“JEV, I... I’m not doubting you. It’s just... as much as we had agreed to keep things separated, it all had been rolling along fine until someone came and you had to go and actually say those things. It still hurt to see all that coming from your mouth. A dagger put through my heart would have hurt less than hearing, straight from you, that we cannot have any relationship. It seemed like it was a real thing, to see it everywhere in the press, to hear it said like that, to have people come up to me and ask me about it. I know it doesn’t make sense. I know none of it is true, but it still broke me. It broke me badly.”_

 _Jean-Éric frowns._

 _“I think...” His eyes glaze over and he quiets down for a second, as if unsure and regretting of what he’s about to say, and then he seems to turn more resolute. “I think we should get a break, Dan.”_

 _“No- no- a break?” Daniel manages out, his voice a pathetic squeak._

 _“Yes, a break,” Jean-Éric continues, unwavering. “Things are getting out of control. What happened here today is us getting out of control, and we can’t let that happen. We need to take a break, we need to think things over.”_

 _“I don’t- I can’t, JEV, I’m not going to let you leave.” He winces, his face scrunching up in nauseated despair. “You can’t leave, you can’t go, please. We’ll work it out.”_

 _“Dan, please-” He shuts his eyes when Daniel reaches out and holds his arm. “Dan, let me go. You need to cool down, and we both need to stop and think with a clearer head. We’re not going to be able to do so tonight. We really aren’t. We need time.”_

 _“No, JEV, **no**.” Daniel tries again, tightening his grip on his arm. His skin feels cold against his warm fingertips, it doesn’t feel the way it should, it doesn’t feel alive at all. The air doesn’t seem to be getting into his lungs and he feels dizzy. Maybe, if his grip is firm enough, he won’t be able to move and that’ll make him stay, he thinks, and he knows it’s irrational, but anything was worth a try by that point. “No. Don’t go. How can we work things out if we are apart? We can’t-”_

 _“_ _We’ll have to!” Jean-Éric hisses, tearing his arm away with a shove. Daniel’s jaw drops at his aggressiveness, and he thinks he sees something in the way his eyes widen after he’s done so, as if he too couldn’t believe in what he just had done. Jean-Éric’s features soften then, as does his voice, but still retains their straightforwardness. “We’ll have to.”_

 _Daniel finds there’s really nothing he can say to that. Suddenly, he feels exhausted, his energy completely drained after a whole day of hemming and hawing and fretting and fighting, of confusion and heedless fury, and now, of an ending he did not want for them at all. Distressed and distraught, he lets himself fall on the sofa, the crumpled piece of paper tossed aside on a whim. He sighs a broken sigh and gazes at Jean-Éric. He doesn’t look like himself, either; it feels as if since the day before, they had given place to crooked, bent, unfamiliar versions of themselves who had done nothing but harm to each other._

 _“Don’t look at me like that, Dan.”_

 _“It’s the only face I got, mate.”_

 _The retort comes with a shrug and a tired smile; on his end, Jean-Éric shakes his head, unable to contain a bitter chuckle._

 _“You’re unbelievable.”_

 _“You don’t have to go, JEV.”_

 _“I do, I have to.” His voice is only a reflection of his muted features, and Dan realizes all of this is not easy on him either. “We need to breathe, Dan.”_

 _Daniel thinks he liked it better when they breathed together but says nothing, finding those words are too encrusted on his throat to come out, and he’s done enough struggling for one day. He simply stares at Jean-Éric, at his silent displeasure, and he finds himself screaming like he wanted to, but only on the inside. Screaming not the things he wanted to at first, but the things he needs to scream now: that Jean-Éric’s place was here, that they could work it out together like they always did, that he had made a mistake, and he claws and claws to no avail; it’s a thankless task, because no matter how hard he tries, nothing comes out of him._

 _He is, for once, speechless._

 _“I’ll see you around, Dan.”_

 _That was it, then._

 _Daniel can only nod, his blinking hastening in a futile attempt to hold back tears, his mouth already contorting even before Jean-Éric had left his field of vision; he doesn’t dare to look up, so all he has to remember are the sounds of Jean-Éric getting out of his life. His feet shuffle across the floor, his knuckles crack, he sniffles and hums, and then the door is open, and then there’s only the monolithic, oppressive silence of his loneliness._

 _A silence soon broken by his sobbing._

 

Daniel and Jean-Éric only see each other a couple of days later, for the remaining of the pre-season testing in Barcelona; interaction is kept at a minimum. Daniel doesn’t quite know how to behave, or what to do, or how to approach Jean-Éric, or even if he should approach him outside of the track at all, and he hates the feeling. Break-ups were never easy on him, and this was no different; it didn’t help that they had to work so closely, comparing telemetry data, setup changes and tyre information. Conversation between them revolves solely around those topics and never strays too far away from that; were those other times, they would have met outside the track, they would have gone sightseeing, they would have gone for drinks and dinner in the restaurants just around the corner, and if it were like the pre-season testing the year before, they would have shared far more than just that.

It’s different now, and Daniel, ever so vibrant, has never felt so dull.

Once pre-season testing has ended and they return home, Jean-Éric vanishes again; Daniel only meets him on the days leading up to Melbourne. Luck would have it that they would take the same flight to Australia; fate would have it that their seats were side by side, and fact had it that there would be plenty of time to be spent together. Daniel fears it’ll feel even longer than it already is, inhabited of awkward chit-chat and apathetic silence, and in the end silence is all he gets, as Jean-Éric complains about motion sickness, takes a pill after dinner to avoid it, and sleeps for the better part of the trip. Daniel, on the other hand, can’t and doesn’t sleep a wink, his expression increasingly unhappy. A great opportunity to set the record straight once and for all, and it had slipped through his fingers so easily; the only good thing about it is that it gives him the resolve to do so as soon as possible.

Melbourne whizzes by in a whirlwind of sun and noise, then they find themselves in another scorching, humid race in Sepang and when Shanghai rises over the horizon, Daniel wants to scream -- in between meetings, PR work, training and everything else, he finds time’s flying by too fast, even for someone who is used to speed like he is. There is barely time for anything else, and he can’t really decide what’s more worrying: that his start to the season hasn’t been as strong as he hoped, despite finishing in the points in China, or that he still hasn’t gotten a hold of Jean-Éric the way he wanted to. Talking still only revolves around tyres and telemetry, and congratulations over the points gotten in the races; however, Daniel catches Jean-Éric giving him increasingly wistful looks once in a while, in the paddock and before the free practices, in the hotel lobby and before recording the race previews. There was definitely something there, Daniel knew, and that charade had already gone on too far and for too long.

Daniel is not one to give up, and decides it’s Sakhir or bust.

Luck is on his side, and as usual, they take the same flight; fate is on his side, and their seats are next to each other again. It’s another long flight, there will be plenty of time to spend together, and this time, he’s wiser than before.

 

 _Jean-Éric places the square blister on the retractable table and Daniel gives it a look. Three of the spots were empty, from the previously incommunicable flights, and one remained to be taken soon enough, as dinner had just been finished and the stewardesses had just taken away their trays. It glints mockingly at Daniel under the tiny overhead light, and unnoticed by Jean-Éric, he glances scornfully at it before it gets swiped up and pocketed._

 _“JEV...”_

 _“It’s for my motion sickness.” Jean-Éric is quick to defend himself._

 _Daniel moves his scorn from the now empty spot to Jean-Éric._

 _“I’m really sorry, but I’m gonna have to call you out on this. I’ve known you for a while now and this has got to be the most randomly odd case of motion sickness ever developed. You never had it before when driving, and you certainly never had it before when flying. Come on, now. It’s getting silly.”_

 _Jean-Éric opens his mouth to say something, but his eyes are already guilty from the start; whatever he was about to say, it dies inside him as breathes in. When he speaks up again, his tone is the sincerest Daniel remembers it being in a while._

 _“You’re right. It was an easy way out.” He sheepishly concedes. “I’m sorry.”_

 _“Should have thought of something else, mate. That was a pretty stupid idea.” He shakes his head, still disbelieving of it, but with an amused edge to his voice nonetheless. There’s even the ghost of a smile to his lips that soon vanishes as he steers the conversation down the serious path he wanted to. “We need to talk, JEV.”_

 _Jean-Éric nods, but does not look at Daniel just yet._

 _“I’ve had enough of this break.” He begins quietly, never taking his eyes off Jean-Éric. “I think we’ve done enough breathing on our own already, we’ve cooled down, we’ve done all the thinking we needed. I’m sorry for behaving the way I did that day. I just- I just felt it was a huge blow and- and I wanted-”_

 _Daniel stutters, trying his best to make Jean-Éric understand why his anger was so unbridled that day and failing to do so miserably. He had mentally rehearsed it for days: what he wanted to say and how he wanted to tell it to Jean-Éric, how he wanted to approach him and what he thought he should address, and yet here he is now, spluttering like a fool all over again after a long journey of deliberation and careful planning._

 _“It’s okay, Dan,” Jean-Éric says softly. “I know you meant no harm.”_

 _“But I did, I harmed our relationship! The one thing I shouldn’t have harmed at all!”_

 _“You only raised your concerns because you were worried, and I understand that. It makes perfect sense, and you weren’t wrong to do so.” He pauses to look at Daniel, his eyes tranquil, the guilt all gone now. “I wasn’t on my best behavior either, and I apologize for that. I should have let you known about it before it was published everywhere, then you’d have known what was coming. We could have dealt with it beforehand, but we never did.”_

 _“It won’t happen again, I promise,” Daniel says warmly, reaching out to clutch Jean-Éric’s hand under the blue airplane blanket. “Are we good again?”_

 _“Yeah.” Jean-Éric nods, interlacing their fingers together with a smile. “We are.”_

 _There is so much reassurance built into those warm hands joined together that Daniel feels as if they are melting down the glacier he grew around himself during those long months apart, and the words that were stuck inside it are now flowing freely again, an unstoppable torrent of emotion that cannot be held back._

 _“I was so afraid I had fucked things up between us, I really was.” Daniel sighs, his features relieved of the weight he carried on his shoulders for the past months. “And you seemed to be off on your little unreachable world, not talking to me, not saying a thing. I have to admit it seemed like you weren’t that much concerned about us. I was worried all over again, worried that you didn’t want any of it any longer. I missed you a lot.”_

 _“I did my own share of thinking too, while we were apart,” Jean-Éric says. “I just kept to myself while doing so. I guess I didn’t know how to approach you either, so I waited and resorted to some ill-advised bits of distraction while I tried to figure a way. And it was a break, after all, it’d be no use if we were stuck to each other with superglue like we used to. I think however painful this break was, for me and for you, it was actually good. We learned a lot. We’ll be stronger now.”_

 _“You shouldn’t be afraid of approaching me for anything, seriously. I’m still me, I’m still here. Don’t hesitate to say anything, because you were never one to do so. But yeah, when you want to be stoically, annoyingly quiet, you excel at it. It’s like, your superpower or something.” Daniel grimaces, and Jean-Éric sticks out his tongue at him. He grins before continuing. “Seriously, though, I think now we’ll handle the crises that come our way better. We didn’t really have an idea of how we’d behave when one rolled around, and that’s why everything spiralled out of control.”_

 _“Everything including ourselves, yeah.”_

 _“Everything **especially**  ourselves, I’d say.”_

 _“It wasn’t a pretty sight, was it?”_

 _“What?”_

 _“The fight.”_

 _“No, nope, not at all. It was fucked up. We were both ridiculous. I think the less we speak about it, the better it is.” Daniel glances at Jean-Éric, a grin forming on his lips. “Hey, there’s something I wanna know.”_

 _“Oh, here it comes.” Jean-Éric throws his head back, laughing heartily. “Shall I brace myself for what you’re about to say?”_

 _“Not really, it’s not that much of a big deal, despite your sudden silliness. Though I guess that must be the wine you drank before and during dinner getting to your head.” Daniel continues, the grin still plastered to his face. He lifts his free hand to turn off the overhead lights; they had been too deep in their conversation to notice they were about the only ones who still had them on, but Daniel admits to himself to have something else in mind to do so. Jean-Éric nudges him in mock annoyance, giving him a funny look that goes amiss in the newly created darkness. “I wanna know,” he begins, diving closer to Jean-Éric to whisper in his ear. “I wanna know what you thought about me. I wanna know what you **did**  while you were thinking of me.”_

 _Jean-Éric raises a surprised eyebrow._

 _“Looks like I’m not the only one affected by the wine, huh.” He shakes his head, leaning so close to Daniel his lips brush across his cheek and ear. “You can be such a tease sometimes, Dan. And don’t even say it’s your superpower, ‘cause it’s not.”_

 _“Wow, wow.” Daniel stirs, clutching his hand a bit stronger for a second and exhaling. So close, he’s so close and after all those months it’s tantalizing, it’s hard to breathe. “Of course it’s not, my charisma is my superpower, everyone knows that. The good looks, too.”_

 _Jean-Éric giggles._

 _“Of course they are.”_

 _“I’ve never heard any complaints. Especially not from you.”_

 _“Whoever said I’m complaining? I’m not. I’m not complaining at all.” He moves closer to Daniel again, pressing a kiss to his cheekbone. “I’ll do even better. Undo your seatbelt.”_

 _He looks at Daniel straight in the eye when he says that, and there it is again, that edge, that unattainable something that sends a shiver running down his spine. It’s a command, but it doesn’t feel like one; it’s a demand, but it’s one he gladly submits to. The next thing he knows, the hand that he held in his is grasping at the inside of his thigh, heat radiating up and down in waves as it moves up in a deliberate caress. Daniel sucks in air, but it doesn’t seem to come to his lungs; all of his focus is in the slow, upward movement against the rough fabric of his jeans._

 _“I thought about you a lot, Dan.”_

 _Jean-Éric’s voice is barely above a murmur, dropped straight into the hollow of his ear. It’s all for him, just for him, it doesn’t matter they’re surrounded by people, because it’s only for him. All of that, all of that deafening sensation is for himself and himself only, delivered by the only one who could make him feel that way. It was reckless, it could be troublesome, but it didn’t matter. He wanted it so badly, he needed it so badly that his blood rushed in a way it never had before; it rushed with power, it rushed with lust, it rushed with arousal, and he opens his mouth in a sigh._

 _“Tell me.”_

 _It’s just the two of them on the end seats of the row, Daniel on the window, Jean-Éric on the aisle, and he’s thankful for that configuration and for the blankets covering their legs. He can barely see a thing, so he has to rely only on hearing and touch, and he’ll be damned if that isn’t turning him on in ways he thought it wouldn’t. He’s all feeling now, all fervor and anticipation for the next turn, for the next whisper, for the next sentence._

 _“I thought about everything. The last time we were together. The way you sat me down on your bed, pulled down my underwear and crawled between my legs to take me in and suck me whole. Fuck, the way I held on to your hair as you got into that rhythm of yours, the way you kept going on, the way you made me moan and beg for more. Do you remember?”_

 _Daniel considers replying something, because really, how can he not remember, but he can’t, even if he wanted to; Jean-Éric slides his hand forward, to press the heel of his hand against the front of his jeans and covers his mouth with his own with a quick kiss. It’s a smart move, and the moan that follows the teasing strokes is muffled against his tongue in a low, wet trill._

 _“God, JEV-” He leans back on the seat, voice airy and legs astray, once Jean-Éric pulls back just in time, as the kiss was about to deepen. There’s mild displeasure in his voice, wanting it to go on, wanting the strokes to hasten, wanting the feel of flesh grazing against flesh, but Jean-Éric is taking his time._

 _“You never really left my mind, Dan. Not one moment.” Jean-Éric moves his hand away, and Daniel’s hips buck forward almost instinctively, craving the touch that just vanished; his hand is now lifting his shirt and raking at his stomach and chest with light fingers. “Not when I was racing, not when I was asleep. I thought all sorts of things. All the things we still had to do. All the times we were wrapped around each other, legs and arms tight, hands everywhere, teeth leaving marks all over each other’s bodies. I thought of me on top of you, inside you, all around you, pushing hard.”_

 _“Hard,” Daniel echoes, rasping. He clasps Jean-Éric’s hand on his and guides it back down; however good it was the feel of his fingertips spreading the pooled arousal across his body, that’s where he needs it the most. Jean-Éric’s hand is everywhere, all over his thighs and crotch, and he groans. It feels good, the friction of the coarse fabric and cotton against sensitive skin, but still he wants more-_

 _“I had to make do with what I had. Thoughts, memories, fantasies.” Jean-Éric continues, one warm finger tracing a line against the outline of Daniel’s fly. “I kept imagining getting to fuck you in the garage after everyone is gone, I kept imagining you getting to fuck me at the back of the motorhome, pushing me against the cold metal, undoing my overalls and my fireproofs, rubbing your hands all over my body until I’m fucking aching for you to be inside me. You like it, don’t you. You like this.”_

 _It would be easier if Jean-Éric wasn’t so descriptive, but every sentence conjures images too vivid to be ignored, and if he closes his eyes, he can almost feel the cold surface of the motorhome as Jean-Éric writhes and stirs underneath him, and the scent of gasoline, and the sound of the engines roaring one after the another, muffling their hushed sounds. Jean-Éric is half-naked under his hands, and he feels the smooth skin as he presses him on, unstoppable, uncaring of surroundings, just as he is uncaring now. His breathing comes in ragged patches, lost in the feeling, lost in the hands he had missed so much. He can’t speak a thing, not even if he wanted to, not even if he tried; he’s getting impatient, haphazardly rubbing himself against his hand. Jean-Éric realizes this and gives a short sting of a laugh._

 _“I know you do. I can feel it right here.”_

 _He undoes the button at last and unzips the fly, and Daniel raises his hips slightly to lower his jeans and his underwear a bit. Jean-Éric is quick to wrap a hand around his cock, and Daniel is quick to stifle with his own hand the satisfied sigh that erupts from his lips at the long-awaited contact. He’s already halfway hard and wet like he rarely remembers being, but once Jean-Éric begins working his length and finding the right pace between longer and shorter strokes, between teasing the tip of his cock and his balls, he finds it increasingly difficult to maintain any sort of composure. Each swipe makes away with a piece of it, and he shuts his eyes, swept up on the imagery; when it crosses his mind again that he’s actually on a plane, surrounded by other people, the forbidden nature of their actions only makes it unspeakably desiring, and his cock twitches in anticipation._

 _“I want it so bad, JEV,” he murmurs feverishly. “Don’t stop.”_

 _“I won’t.”_

 _He doesn’t._

 _His breathing hitches, and he feels it coming, he feels it getting closer, his whole body is saying so, and when he shakes and stirs on the seat, it feels like electricity surges through him when he comes. His jaw drops in a silent scream, and Jean-Éric is on him again. Their tongues dance against each other, elastic and slender, while he rides out his orgasm, holding Jean-Éric’s hand around his cock. It’s a long kiss, careful and deliberate, and it feels like the perfect end to what they’ve just done together._

 _“Fuck, JEV.” Daniel grins, his eyelids still heavy, once they break apart. He’s a mess underneath the blanket, but he’s deal with it soon. The afterglow he’s basking in is too good to be discarded right away. “You’re such a pervert.”_

 _“So are you. We’re tied on that.” He breathes in. “I really need to clean myself up.”_

 _“Some pillow talk we’re having,” Daniel mutters, unamused._

 _“I love you, you fool,” Jean-Éric whispers back, and Daniel can almost hear his eyes rolling in the darkness; something in his tone comes across as deeply sincere, and it could not be otherwise. “We trust each other enough to do what we just did. That’s why we work. Because we trust each other entirely. We can’t love without trust. We’ve always had that.”_

 _At that moment, Daniel realizes they would never be apart again. Not ever, not again, not for any reason; they were irremediably wrapped around each other since the beginning, and the ties only became more and more tight. Earlier that year, they had nearly strangled themselves on them, but that would not happen again; now, the ties became bonds, and those bonds were not only strong, but were what would tow them ahead, further enough that they can only glimpse it for now, but the certainty of it was already evident for them where they stood._

 

There’s indeed darkness in what he finds as he pulls ring after ring of memory; there’s darkness and fear, and hopelessness at times, and endings that however brief, still ache and provoke. There’s also light to be found; there’s understanding and reconciliation too, and beginnings that carry far more weight than any pain or provocation could ever attempt to.

  


***

  
The cemetery rests across town, a long way from where their house is, but Daniel still makes the effort to visit Jean-Éric’s grave at least once a week. Whether the weather is dire or fair, he climbs onto the bus and goes on his silent journey, only stopping halfway to get the flowers he lovingly lies by the headstone each time. Today, it’s a particularly bright day, the sky an intense shade of blue; today, it’s the third anniversary of Jean-Éric’s death.

There is something in the air as he stands and reels off a quiet prayer from the heart; he doesn’t quite know how to describe it, but there is something entangled all over the grass and the asphalt, on the seats and on the graves, and even in himself. It’s not something he can shake off, this sense of odd apprehension in the pit of his stomach that he has felt for a few days now, and he cannot quite comprehend why it has become a part of him. He has dreamed of Jean-Éric more frequently these days, but those are dreams that make no sense, nothing but tatters of opaque image and pieces of broken dialogue that vanish as soon as he awakens; he awakens with a clear image of him in his mind and knows it’s because he’s seeing Jean-Éric again even in his sleep.

Even in his unconsciousness, Jean-Éric is still there, and Daniel can’t avoid a crinkled smile.

“You were never really gone, were you?” he whispers to the indifferent slab of stone, but it’s the wind that replies, caressing his hair and the back of his neck with gentle fingers. “You remained.”

This particular realization hadn’t struck him suddenly; it had simply come to him in the simplest of ways, so uncomplicated he had barely noticed it until it was fully formed in the back of his mind, and he had no doubt it was a deliberate development from cataloguing the mental keepsakes of some sixty years spent by Jean-Éric’s side. In fastening together the strands and strings of their life, he has put together a tapestry that unfolds in front of him, mirroring the path they made for themselves; in keeping his memories of them sufficiently kindled, he finds Jean-Éric’s legacy was to bestow him the strength to go on.

“Thank you, JEV.” A tear streams down his face, but he doesn’t wipe it, for he knows more will follow soon enough. “Thank you for everything. Thank you for never leaving. I miss you, God knows how much I miss you, but you’re still here. You’re still here in me.”

When Jean-Éric was gone, he was like a compass devoid of north or south aimlessly spinning around its center; he was like a noon that had no corresponding midnight, or a song that had no rhyme and no rhythm. When he was gone, Daniel thought that love had died along with him and that he was proven there was no such thing as a love that lasted forever. Over time, however, he turned out to be wrong: just like he had always loved Jean-Éric in life, it remained true in his death too. He never stopped loving Jean-Éric at all; now, however, he loved him in the persistent yearning only those surviving their loved ones could fully perceive.

In Daniel’s grieving heart, Jean-Éric lives on.

He closes his eyes as the wind blows around him, hand tight on his cane. He begins another prayer, but this time it’s a shorter one; instead, he takes up an imagined conversation with Jean-Éric, telling him about what has happened since he left. The city, it hasn’t changed much, nor has the world at large, and Daniel can almost hear the replies, the interjections and the questions as he goes on. He had never done so before, and yet now he felt a profound need to do so, to speak to Jean-Éric even if he will not listen. He tells of their home, how the garden he loved so much is still taken care of, and how the neighborhood has grown and expanded but still remains as tranquil as it used to be. He tells of their neighbor’s children, older but still loud and attentive, and he tells of the kindness they had shown to him after he departed. He tells him all that can and should be told; he lets it all out slowly, and when he ends, the Jean-Éric in his mind nods.

 _Thank you, my love,_ he would say, and there’s the wind again, ruffling his hair.

“Do you love me still?” Daniel mumbles.

 _Yes. I could never stop loving you._

His heart constricts as he nods; he knows that much is true.

 _Stay safe tonight, Dan._

These words are nothing but echoes in his mind, but he feels he’s been granted the greatest peace he has ever known just by hearing them. Guided by the wind, he walks away from the grave, through the stone paths and out of the cemetery. His step is slow, but steady and sure, and as he goes back home, he feels the warmth of the sun leading him ahead. He feels contented, satisfied even; there’s not a lot of planning ahead he has to do, but he thinks of the simple things that had always interested him, and the beauty of those captivate his heart again. He thinks of Jean-Éric again, as he always did, but now in the dwindling light of that autumn day, and he beams happily.

That night, after he’s had dinner, he sits for a while on the front porch, watching the starswept sky with interest; his mind is blank, only taking in the sights and sounds of his surroundings. It’s been a beautiful day, he thinks; it’s been a good day, and his spirits feel like soaring high and away, to evenings spent with friends around a fire, to evenings spent in preparation before a race, to nights spent with Jean-Éric on that very porch. He shuts his eyes, but not because it’s cold; he shuts his eyes and enjoys the realization his life has been a fulfilling one. There is not a single thing he would change; there is not a single moment he would forget, not even the ones that brought him down. This is all he could never leave behind: the experiences, the lessons learned, the memories. They made him the person he was, they were a part of who he became, and he can only be thankful for all of that.

That night, he goes to bed quietly and heeds Jean-Éric’s earlier advice. Sleep does not take long to come, and he’s never felt lighter before.

 

 _“Come on, Dan!”_

 _It doesn’t feel quite a memory, but it’s not really a dream, either; all he knows is that it’s Jean-Éric standing there, a few feet away from him, grinning ear to ear, young again. He recognizes the hallway, the discreet walls and the tacky carpet on the ground, just as he recognizes the grey Red Bull sweater Jean-Éric is wearing. A hotel! Yes, a hotel, but where? Italy, Spain, Brazil...? He knows and doesn’t know at once, and yet he thinks that shouldn’t be the greater of his worries at the moment. Jean-Éric is quickly by his side, hands on his shoulders as they start moving again, and Daniel is equal parts confused and mesmerized. How could that be?_

 _“JEV! Where are we? I feel I know this place... I feel I’ve been here before... I feel...”_

 _He lowers his head and looks at his hands, free of wrinkles and spots._

 _“There’s this new piece I’ve learned on the piano over the break, I’ve got to show you.”_

 _Now, Daniel knew Jean-Éric had said that for sure, but where? Belgium, United States?_

 _“JEV, you’re not even listening to me, come on.” He’s mildly peeved that Jean-Éric doesn’t seem to care they’re young again and in a place they know, and yet he feels so moved by the whole ordeal he can’t stop smiling. Their movement forward is fluid, oddly fluid, as if floating down a river in a boat, but he looks down again and yes, their legs are where they should be. He’s wearing a pair of black Vans, when did he had those again? He’s had so many over the years... An inward groan stirs him. He’s never had a failing memory, even after growing old, but now it seems to falter, right when it shouldn’t._

 _“Of course I’m listening to you!” He nudges Daniel with his elbow, laughing. “We’ve been here since Wednesday! How can you not know where we are?”_

 _“By not knowing?” Daniel furrows his brow, but then grins, poking Jean-Éric on the ribs. He’ll manage the information out of him, that’s it. “Tell me, you know you want to...”_

 _“I’m glad that we’re here again, Dan,” Jean-Éric suddenly says, his tone warm, his features relaxed, and he’s even more beautiful than Daniel remembered him being. He takes his hand, attempting to lead him down the corridor. “Come with me.”_

 _Daniel stands still for a moment, but there’s something compelling about his words, something irresistible and unavoidable and it’s Jean-Éric, how could he possibly not follow him? He eases down, deciding it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t remember now; he’ll remember later, after Jean-Éric has played the piano for him. Yes, it’s clear to him: Jean-Éric and the piano matter more now than location or common sense. He raises his hand, gesturing to the winding stretch in front of them, and somehow he knows it’s safe to go there, to go towards the unknown._

 _“Why, lead the way, good sir.”_

 _“In the same way I’m gonna do for the rest of the year, you better get ready for that.”_

 _Daniel gives him a playful punch to the arm._

 _“The hell I’m gonna let that happen, JEV.”_

 _“Come on, let’s go.” Jean-Éric motions his head to the side. “I’ve been waiting for you.”_

 

Down to his last memory, down to his last dream, down to his last breath, Jean-Éric is with him through and through, and that is the thought he takes with him as life escapes him all at once.

For them, death is not the end.


End file.
